Like Shooting Stars
by Sweet-Porcelain16
Summary: "Get out of my house." Blaine has nothing left. Nothing but a few bags, a guitar, and a letter. And when Kurt needs to escape it all, they leave for a journey that will change their lives forever.Rated T for a reason. Warnings inside. Klaine. Review!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This came out of nowhere, man. AU after 'A Very Glee Christmas', I think… **

**Oh, and we're ignoring that Blaine is out of the closet. He _is_, but not to his father. **

**Blaine's father is called Darren, by the way. I realised as I finished that I'd gat some hate from Darren Criss fans for it, but nothing else sounded right. You probably don't care, but if you do, I'll explain; **

**In my head, the characters' middle names are their actors' first names. (For example Blaine Darren Anderson, Kurt Chris Hummel, Mercedes Amber Jones ect). Blaine's father, to me, just seemed like the type of man to name his son after himself. **

**Warnings: Gay bashing. Hate to write it, buuut, unfortunately, that's real life. :( Also, strong language, a little gore, sexual references, trigger warning for suicide, character death, mentions of domestic violence… basically, it's T for a reason. **

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Blaine Anderson paced his room, chucking random objects into the suitcase that lay open on his bed as he went. His anger burned inside him, making him feel physically sick, making his head hurt, and his body break out into a sweat. He aimed a kick at his bed, hoping to let out his anger. He only stubbed his toe, making things much, much worse. Cursing, Blaine grabbed a handful of random sheet music and tossed it into the blue case. He realised suddenly that he would have to pack strategically rather than just throwing whatever he could find into a case – the bag was already starting to overflow, and he hadn't packed his clothes yet. Groaning, he tipped the thing upside down, and started again, starting by folding his many pairs of jeans up neatly, followed by a handful of assorted t-shirts. He knew that Kurt wouldn't approve of his fashion choices, but at that moment, he really couldn't care less.

_Kurt. _

How could Blaine leave now, when his best friend was still grieving so badly? When he was hurting so terribly? Blaine was Kurt's source of courage, the reason that Kurt got up in the mornings, rather than just laying in bed, sobbing.

Kurt hadn't come back to Dalton after his father had died. No-one had expected him to. Kurt never really left the house at all. And Blaine visited him every day, often just being there, a shoulder to cry on, a friend to lean on.

And now he had to go. He knew that. But he couldn't leave Kurt.

"Fifteen minutes." The voice that rose up the stairs was harsh, cruel. The voice that belonged to Blaine's father. The reason that Blaine was leaving in the first place.

Blaine had told Wes, on many occasions, _not _to put videos of him on Facebook. Especially ones that Blaine didn't know had been filmed. Yet Wes had thought it would be hilarious to put the video up. It had been up for almost a month, and Blaine was certain he was safe.

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_15 minutes earlier_

"Blaine Darren Anderson!" Blaine's father shouted from downstairs, the anger clear in his tone.

"Mmm?" Blaine replied, sighing as he put down his guitar to go and see what his father wanted.

"You come here right now and explain this to me." Blaine did as he was told, making his way down the stairs to find his father. Darren Anderson, was in his study, his computer open to a Facebook page.

**Wes Montgomery **has uploaded a video – **Klaine performing 'Baby it's Cold Outside'**. **Blaine Anderson** and **Kurt Hummel** were tagged.

**Wes Montgomery**: I was casually walking past the common room when I heard this ;) Just _had _to film it…

**Kurt Hummel**: Ohmigod, Wes! Really? *eyeroll*

**Wes Montgomery**: Aha :)

**Kurt Hummel**: Wait… You did… leave as soon as the song ended, right?

**Wes Montgomery**: *Smirks* Nopeee. I overheard a _lovely _conversation between you and you're old show choir director. I'm sure **Blaine Anderson** would be very interested… ;) Luckily for you, though, I'd stopped filming by that point.

**Kurt Hummel**: He would most certainly _not _be at all interested. And even if he was, He wouldn't be finding out anything, right, Wes? -_-

**Wes Montgomery**: Can't promise anything … ;)

**Blaine Anderson**: WES! Take this video down _now._

**Wes Montgomery**: How about…no. Just admit you want to get into his pants, Anderson ;)

**Blaine Anderson**: Wesley, just because sex is all _you _think about, doesn't mean it's the same for all of us. Now take this down.

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Oh.

_Shit. _

"Can you explain to me why you're singing a love song with a fag?"

"Don't call Kurt that." Blaine defended instantly. It was bad enough that Kurt was being called that by teenage boys, but for Blaine's father, who had never even met Kurt, to insult him so openly… It wasn't right.

"I can call him whatever the fuck I want to! Isn't this the one whose father died last week? Serves him right, bringing another queer like him into the world." Darren spat, hatred etched on his face.

"Dad! You can't say that!"

"I told you, boy, I can say whatever the fuck I want about that fag and his family. But you never answered my question. Why the fuck are you singing with him?" "Practising," Blaine answered, giving the same excuse he'd given Kurt.

"For what?" Now Blaine was stumped. He knew that _Kurt _wouldn't know that there wasn't a Christmas show at King's Island. But his father would.

"I… I just wanted to sing with him." Blaine admitted reluctantly, hanging his head a little.

"Why?" Mr. Anderson's voice was cruel, cold. He already knew why. He just wanted Blaine to say it out loud.

"Because I'm in love with him."

Silence.

"Get out of my house."

"W- _what_?" Blaine stammered. He'd expected his father to be angry, but _this_?

"You heard me. You can't live here any more. I don't want you contaminating us, think of Alicia!"

"Dad-"

"You have thirty minutes to pack."

And with that, Darren Anderson swung his chair around so that his back was turned to his son. Anger pulsed through Blaine's veins. How dare he? What gave him the right to- What made him think that-?

Suddenly, the speaker above Darren's head fell. Blaine didn't know how or why, only that it couldn't have happened at a better time. It hit his father on the head, and then fell onto the ground. As Darren let out a long stream of curses, Blaine turned and ran. He didn't know how, but he felt like the speaker falling was his fault.

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His bags were packed with almost everything Blaine owned. The room now looked blank, empty. The bed was bare; now just a wooden frame and a mattress, and the wardrobe was empty, save for the old clothes that either no longer fit, or were not wanted.

And although the room _looked _empty, Blaine knew that he was leaving a lot behind. Looking around, he had only been able to find two suitcases; one large and one small, and a medium sized backpack. So much had been left; books, games, Blaine's TV. So much he wouldn't see again.

He didn't have much money. Just a few twenties and a ten. Fifty bucks that he was supposed to live on until he could find himself a job.

Blaine turned at the doorway, giving his room – his _ex_-room; he corrected himself, one final, fleeting look. Ignoring the tears prickling in his eyes, he tugged his bags down the stairs, cursing when he caught on the banister and the bags went tumbling down. At the bottom of the stairs, Blaine struggled to lift everything. Two bags, a backpack and a guitar case are hard to carry when one is also trying to grab his car keys from the shelf, and unlock the door at the same time. To Blaine's surprise, his mother took his bags for him, carrying them out to Blaine's car with a sad smile and waiting for him by the passenger door. Blaine joined her seconds later, nodding politely in thanks. He didn't know how to act around his mother. How much had his father told her? How much did she care?

"Darren told me everything," she said, answering Blaine's question as if he'd spoken aloud. "I'm so sorry, Honey, I tried to tell him, to get him to take you back, but…"

"He made up his mind." Blaine finished for her. Once Darren Anderson had made up his mind about something, there was no going back.

"I threatened to leave him. I said to him; 'Darren, if you don't take Blaine back in this house, then I'll file for a divorce.' He just laughed. He pointed out that I had nowhere to go, that the house, the money, the… _life _was all his. If I left, I'd have nothing."

"Mum, stay. I don't want to live in a house with someone who feels the way he does about Kurt, about me. Stay here. Be happy. Call me." Blaine instructed, feeling himself well up again, the tears swimming in his eyes.

"Oh, Honey. I'm going to miss you so, so much," Naomi cooed, wrapping her arms around her son and kissing his hair, not bothering to wipe away the moisture in her hazel eyes. Blaine had grown a little, but he was still shorter than his mother. He probably always would be.

They looked the same, Blaine and Naomi. They were both short, with shiny black hair and hazel eyes. Blaine had gotten the curls from his father, but that was it. He was glad that that was it.

"I'll miss you, too mom," Blaine sniffed, ignoring the tears that were probably soaking into his mother's dress. "I love you."

"I love you, too, Blaine, ever so much." She murmured. "Don't ever forget that."

The door opened and they sprung apart, hoping that his father hadn't seen…

"Naomi. What are you doing?" He barked, eyes narrowing. Blaine knew that look. It meant 'You'd better redeem yourself pretty fast, or I'll beat the crap out of you.'

"Making sure that Blaine is on his way," She improvised quickly, "We wouldn't want him here longer than necessary!" Darren nodded sharply, leaning on the doorframe.

"Well hurry up." He snarled; his face impatient. Never once did he look in Blaine's direction.

"I'm sorry," Naomi muttered, not loud enough for her husband to hear. "I really am, I-"

"You have ten seconds to get here, woman!"

"Mom. Go." Blaine ordered quickly, trying to block out the sound of his father counting down in the most childish way, clearly relishing Blaine's humiliation without even looking at him.

"Blaine, Honey, take this, you'll need it, I- I love you, Please, Please don't hate me, call me, I-" She handed Blaine a small brown bag, a little like the ones that Kurt took shopping with him, kissed his cheek quickly, muttering apologies the whole time. And then she was gone, turning round and almost running back to her husband.

Blaine let out one stuttering sigh, not bothering to wipe away the wetness on his cheek from the tears. His parents went into the house, his father slamming the door behind him. And then Blaine was out on the pebbled driveway alone. He shoved his bags into the back of the car before climbing into the driver's seat and fumbling with his seatbelt, tossing the bag that his mother had given him onto the passenger's seat. It wasn't until he'd been driving in no real direction for twenty odd minutes that he'd really broken down, sobbing into the steering wheel. He pulled over to the side of the road and let the sobs overtake him, rattling through his body, physically shaking him. He was homeless. He had no house, no family, nothing. His father had kicked him out, and there was nothing his mother could do. He was never going to see them again, not them, not his sister, Alicia, not his Dalton friends. He didn't know how long he'd sat there, sobbing his heart out, before he came to a decision. He was going away. Far, far away, leaving his old life behind. He'd start a new life, in a different state where no-one knew his name. He'd get an album deal, make something of himself. Then everyone would know his name. Make his mother proud. Wiping the tears from his eyes, Blaine sat up straight again, taking a deep breath. If he left, he'd miss his friends. He'd miss Wes, and his strange obsession with gavels, miss David, and Trent, and Thad and Nick and Jeff – Hell, He'd even miss Cameron, who flirted non-stop with Kurt…

_Kurt. _

He'd miss Kurt. So, so much. More than he'd miss anything else. He'd miss the flirty glances, the cute duets, the way he laughed. He'd miss his insane beauty, the way he smiled when he was truly happy, he'd miss his singing. He'd miss the gleam in his eye that Blaine knew that only he could bring. He'd miss the way that Kurt could always cheer him up, no matter what had happened. He'd miss the way Kurt made him feel.

Even after Burt had died, Kurt had been strong. Sometimes he'd have trouble getting out of bed, or sometimes he'd lash out at Carole for no real reason, only because she was trying to help. But he'd pull through, Blaine knew he would. Kurt was the strongest person Blaine knew. Kurt had courage. Blaine was just worried what Kurt would do when he found out that Blaine had left.

00000000

He hadn't continued his drive yet. Blaine felt too worked up, too tired. So instead, he decided to find out what his mother had given him. Blaine tipped the bag upside down, spilling the contents onto the passenger seat. The first thing he noticed was a credit card, with a note attached.

'_Blaine,' _

The note read,

'_Your father doesn't know about this, or about any of this stuff. This is the bank account that used to be for your college fund. I know you have another account, but your father is likely to deactivate it. He doesn't know about this one. I'll put money in it for you as often as I can. I'm sorry I can't do much more. _

_-Mom xxx_

The note then went on to tell Blaine the PIN number, and the other bank details that he'd need. Blaine grinned, silently thanking his mother with all his heart. The next item was a letter, also with a note attached to the outside. This note was longer.

'_Blaine, Honey. _

_First thing I need to say is how incredibly sorry I am for not telling you this sooner. You should have known, but your father forbade it. Blaine, I'm going to tell you this bluntly. You're a wizard. _

Blaine chuckled a little, wondering where his mother was going with this, and what he really wanted to say.

_You're probably laughing now, _

Creepy, Blaine thought,

_But it's true. I am a witch. Your father isn't magical – he's a Muggle, as we call them in the Wizarding world. He hates magic, or anything to do with it. It's jealousy, I assume. I can tell you don't believe me. _

Huh. She's right there. She must have gone a bit mad.

_But you can do certain… _things. _Things that no-one you know can. When you're angry, you can make things… happen. Earlier today, you made the speaker fall. You were so angry, and you just did it. Honey, I know you're confused. _

Understatement of the century.

_But this is the truth. You should have gone to a school of magic, learned to control it, but like I said, your father forbade it. He snapped my wand the day I told him. That's why he… he hits me. He wants to show that he has power over me. The letter is your Hogwarts letter. Hogwarts is a school for magic in Scotland, where you were supposed to go when you were eleven. Now I'm going to be blunt here again. I have no idea where this place is. But you have to find it. You'll be accepted there. _

_I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner. I'm sorry if you don't believe me. I'm sorry for everything. _

_-Mom. Xxx_

Blaine blinked. He had no idea what he'd just read. He had no idea what any of it meant. But he knew it was true. He could see the places on the paper where Naomi's tears had fallen, smudging the ink a little. He had to go to _Scotland. _To try and find a school of magic that he'd never heard of. That could be anywhere in that country. Blaine laughed, although it was humourless. And then he groaned, hitting his head multiple times on the steering wheel. Because this information, however interesting and amazing it was, was completely useless. Wearily, Blaine opened the letter.

_HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY _

_Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore _

_(Order or Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, _

_Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards) _

_Dear Mr. Anderson, _

_We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed list of all necessary books and equipment. _

_Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July. _

_Yours Sincerely, _

_Minerva McGonagall_

_Deputy Headmistress _

He was supposed to go when he was eleven. That was over five years ago now. He was sixteen. He couldn't just turn up at this place and tell them that he was invited there when he was eleven. It would be ridiculous. Rolling his eyes, Blaine away from the side of the road and kept driving.

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Blaine had been driving for almost an hour when he got the call.

"_Blaine._" His voice sounded so desperate, so lost.

"Kurt?"

"Blaine, I need you. Please come." Kurt gasped; his voice thick with tears. "_Blaine!_ Please."

"I'm coming, Kurt. Where are you?"

"My house. Blaine, Hurry, please…" Kurt cried out in what sounded like pain, and suddenly, Blaine wasn't in control anymore. Letting adrenaline overtake him, he turned around in the middle of the road, not caring about the other cars honking their horns at him, and sped, well above the speed limit, back the way he came.

"I'm on my way," He shouted into the phone, pressing down harder on the pedal, even though he knew he couldn't go much faster. The world flashed past his window in a blur of greens and greys. Cameras flashed, and he knew that he'd receive several letters demanding fines, or license points, but at that moment he couldn't care less. He wouldn't get them anyway. His father would. The thought gave Blaine some satisfaction.

_Kurt is in pain. _

The thought spurred Blaine on, made him drive faster, faster, faster. After what seemed like hours, but in reality were only minutes, Blaine recognised Lima. He slowed down a little, taking the quickest route to Kurt's house. Finally, he was there.

Kurt's was the only car in the driveway, Blaine noted. Carole and Finn must be out.

He let himself in, calling as loud as he could.

"Kurt?"

"Blaine, up here!" He heard sobbing, gasping, crashing.

Blaine took the stairs three at a time, throwing open the door to Kurt's room.

"Where are you, Kurt?"

"Bathroom," The boy gasped back, desperation clear in his tone. Blaine opened the door fearlessly and nearly fainted.

"_Kurt_…"

"Blaine, I… I'm sorry."

Blood stained the white bathroom tiles. Kurt was leaning against the bathtub, his face writhing in pain, one hand gripping a razor blade, the other one drenched in crimson blood. Blaine didn't have to think twice.

"Fire, police or ambulance?" The lady on the other side of the phone asked clearly.

"Ambulance," Blaine shouted, dropping to his knees next to Kurt. He told the woman Kurt's address, and she promised that they'd have someone there as quickly as possible. Kurt groaned, dropping the blade and looking at Blaine pleadingly.

"Why didn't you call the ambulance first?" Blaine demanded, although he wasn't really angry. How could he be? Gently, He took Kurt's injured hand and held it above Kurt's head.

"It'll help stop the bleeding," He explained, though Kurt didn't really need an explanation. "Oh, _Kurt_… Stay with me, okay? Don't go to sleep. Please," Blaine pleaded, stroking Kurt's face, his hair, his un-injured arm, anything to keep Kurt awake. "Please, Kurt. Stay with me." The tears were dripping off of Blaine's cheek and onto Kurt's t-shirt, but neither cared. He just needed Kurt to breathe, he couldn't _die_, "Kurt, please, please. Don't leave me; stay here with me, Please."

Kurt blinked slowly, allowing more tears to fall from his eyes, before speaking.

"I'm here," He whispered, his voice cracking. Blaine brought his hand up to cup Kurt's face.

"Stay here. Don't fall asleep. Let me… Ask you questions. Stay awake."

Kurt just nodded, bringing his unharmed hand to Blaine's and stroking it gently, emotions clear in his eyes. Fear. Apology. Pain. Love.

"Who did this to you?" Blaine choked out. He was ready to murder whoever it was, whoever had tried to harm Kurt, his Kurt. The pale boy just shook his head, looking ashamed.

"Me," He whispered gently. "I did it."

Blaine had known that, really. He just didn't want to know it. Because Kurt was strong. Kurt wasn't one to give up. Kurt wouldn't do something like that to _himself._ Only he would. Kurt had tried to end it. End the pain, the suffering, the hurt.

"I'm sorry," Kurt repeated; his voice fading.

If Blaine had been terrified before, he didn't know what he was now. Because Kurt's face was becoming paler and paler by the second, and there was so much blood and Kurt was closing his eyes slowly.

"Kurt, don't die, please, Kurt! I love you!" Blaine cried, throwing his head back and howling, letting the tears and the pain and the hurt take over again. "Please, Kurt…" He gasped out, pulling himself closer to the boy, resting his head on Kurt's shoulder. He could hear, now, how shallow the brunette's breathing was, how laboured each breath was. "Please, Kurt. I love you, please,"

"I love you, too." His voice was impossibly quiet, and clearly painful. And then he gasped, and then he didn't. His breathing slowed. His eyes drooped closed.

"I love you, Blaine." And then his breathing stopped all together.

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**A/N: Oh my goodness, what have I just written? *sobs hysterically* **

**No, this isn't the end. I swear. Loads and loads and loads more to come. **

**Sorry to have to end it there… Next chapter will be up shortly, and then it'll get all magical and stuff. Woo. **

**Please review! : ) xxx**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Have some Kurt. Trigger warning for suicide. Slightly graphic. If blood isn't your thing, skip the beginning, start after the first page break. This chapter is meant to be all jumpy; it's Kurt's thought process type thing. Thank you guys for all the kind reviews! **

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_No. _

_No, this wasn't possible. _

Kurt felt the colour drain from his face, felt goose-bumps erupt over his skin. The feeling was gone. The feeling that came with Blaine was gone. Blaine was gone.

At first, Kurt hadn't realised what the feeling was. He assumed it was the feeling of love. He remembered feeling it around his mum, so it made sense. But he'd never felt it with his dad, and Kurt had loved Burt more than anything in the world. It made no sense to Kurt, especially when he'd feel it when walking past complete strangers on the street. That was rare, but it had happened once or twice. And he'd felt it the one time that he'd met Blaine's mother.

And then Kurt worked it out.

_Magic. _

It was something that Kurt was no longer familiar with. He hadn't used magic since he was six. But he recognised the feeling. But it had gone.

Kurt didn't know how he knew that Blaine wasn't coming back. He could feel it, almost. Feel him leaving Kurt, for good.

Emptiness.

Kurt felt empty. Like there was nothing left, nothing there to live for. His mother was dead, his father was dead, and Blaine was gone. There was a black hole in his stomach, sucking away all feeling, all hope, all love.

Blaine hadn't stayed. He hadn't loved Kurt enough to stay. Elizabeth was gone. Burt was gone. Blaine was gone.

Tears swam in Kurt's eyes, and he fell to the floor, head pounding. What was the point?

Pain. Kurt felt like he was being torn in half, like his heart had been removed from his body. It hurt to breathe. Why was he still breathing?

What was the point? What was the point in being here? Why wasn't Kurt dead, like his parents, or gone like Blaine?

Blaine.

Blaine had left.

Blaine was gone.

What was the point on being in a world where no-one loved him, wanted him, needed him? Finn and Carole had given up. They'd left him, too, along with everyone else in Kurt's life.

The world would be better without him. No-one cared. No-one wanted him. No-one had stayed.

Kurt crawled into the bathroom, curling up on the floor. He hit his head on the bath, but he didn't feel it, not really.

Tears ran onto the floor, but Kurt didn't bother to wipe them away. There was no point.

Hurt. Pain. Emptiness.

_No-one loves me. _

_No-one cares. _

All he wanted was to end the pain. No-one would care if he died. Everyone was gone. If he was dead, he wouldn't have to face every day, without Burt. Elizabeth. _Blaine. _

As if in a trance, he reached, and grabbed the razor from the sink.

Hurt. Pain. Emptiness.

_No-one loves me. _

_No-one cares. _

The razor still had tiny prickles of stubble in, from when Blaine had convinced Kurt the morning before that he needed to get up, shower, shave.

Blaine.

Kurt would never see Blaine again. He hadn't cared enough to stay.

The first cut didn't hurt. He couldn't feel it. He wanted to feel it. He needed it to end.

The sharp edge cut his skin again, deeper this time. He felt it.

Hurt. Pain. Emptiness.

_No-one loves me. _

_No-one cares. _

Blood ran down his wrist, thick and fast, staining his sleeve.

Again. Another cut, even deeper.

Kurt cried out, leaning onto the bath and panting, letting the blade fall to the floor. Blood pooled on the tiles.

Hurt. Pain. Emptiness.

_No-one loves me. _

_No-one cares. _

Another cut, and Kurt screamed out, throwing his head so far back that it hit the bath. He wished that he'd just die already, end the pain that was tearing him in half, threatening to break him, shatter him like glass.

A noise in Kurt's room started up. His alarm. A song, a recording.

_Blackbird singing in the dead of night, _

The music floated into the room, through the closed door.

_Take these broken wings and learn to fly, _

The song wasn't the original recording. It was his mother. Recorded onto a tape when Kurt was young, and transferred onto a CD, then onto his IPod.

_All your life, you were only waiting, for this moment to arise, _

What was he doing? This was wrong. This wasn't what Elizabeth would have wanted.

_Blackbird, fly, _

Her voice was thick like honey, and pure, so pure. It reminded Kurt of his own voice.

_Blackbird, fly, _

Her voice gave him courage.

_Into the light of the dark black night, _

Courage.

Blaine.

Kurt's phone was lying on the floor. It must have fallen out of his pocket.

_Blackbird singing in the dead of night, _

Speed dial 1.

_Take these sunken eyes and learn to see, _

Blood dripped onto the phone, but Kurt ignored it.

_All your life, you were only waiting, for this moment to be free_

He picked up on the first ring.

"Blaine?"

**000000000000**

The sound was strange. It was sort of like listening to a particularly static radio, or trying to hear from underwater. It was warm.

Those were the only things that Kurt could be sure of. Everything else was a fuzzy mess, like trying to see through muddy water, or a thick fog.

Kurt was content to just lay there, on whatever soft thing he was lying on, forever. It felt safe.

He tried to roll over, to snuggle down into this soft… bed, Kurt assumed, but his body refused to do his mind's bidding. His arms felt like they were made of lead.

Ugh. That was frustrating.

Now he realised he couldn't, Kurt wanted to move more than anything.

"Kurt? Kurt, are you awake?" Blaine.

He opened his eyes, just a fraction of an inch. The world was blurry, but Kurt could make out Blaine's face above his own, a look of pure delight on his face.

"Oh my god, he's awake! It worked!" Kurt had no idea what Blaine was talking about. The sudden loud hurt his ears.

"Or course it worked, Mr. Anderson," A voice said distractedly. Kurt couldn't see the owner of the voice. He guessed they were male, but he couldn't really be sure. All he could see was Blaine. His face was right above his, his eyes shining with tears - of happiness, Kurt guessed, judging by the mile-wide smile of pure joy that made his cheeks dimple, and his forehead crinkle. Only whiteness seemed to surround Blaine; but the more Kurt stared, the more it came into focus. A curtain, in a beige colour. The ceiling was greying, but everything else sparkled, like the sea, or Blaine's eyes.

"Mr. Hummel. How are you feeling?" Blaine's face moved, and Kurt wanted to cry out, ask him to stay. Sencing Kurt's desparation, Blaine gripped Kurt's hand, smiling warmly.

"I'm right here, Kurt." He felt the pressure on his right hand, that meant that Blaine was squeazing it reassuringly. That hand was the only thing he could feel. Everything else was weird. Nothing else felt _right_. Hs mouth felt dry, sore. It was hard to open it, make it form the words he wanted.

"I don't know," Kurt eventually managed, with much effort. "My arm's numb." He added, staring at the hand that wasn't currently holding Blaine's. It was sort of fuzzy to Kurt, still, but he could just about see it. "What happened?"

Talking was becoming more and more painful to his parched throat. The doctor noticed the croakiness to Kurt's tone, and took a glass cup from what Kurt assumed was a surface behind him. And then Kurt nearly fainted. The man; not a doctor, but a Healer, Kurt realised, pulled out a wand, muttering a spell. Kurt couldn't watch. He didn't want to watch. _Magic_. How he was in a Magic hospital, Kurt didn't know. All he knew was at that moment, there was really nowhere he wanted to be less. "Please," He choked, "Don't do that in front of me." Kurt turned his head away in disgust, trying to look away from the Healer who was now trying to give him the glass of clear water. Blaine's eyes were flashing backwards and forwards between the wand in the Healer's hand, and Kurt's broken expression, his face torn between amazement and worry. Kurt's brain was too clouded to think why.

"Drink it. It'll help," The Healer insisted, forcing the drink into Kurt's hand. Kurt groaned, shifting himself a little so that he could be raised into a sitting position. Regretfully, he took the glass with his numb hand, drawing the glass to his lips and sipping. The water tasted normal; he'd known that it would, but it surprised him all the same. When the glass was drained, Kurt sat up a little straighter, watching the Healer intently.

"Explain." Though his voice was weak, it wasn't a question. The Healer sighed, conjuring up a plastic chair to sit on. Kurt winced at the Magic, turning his head away and ignoring the Healer's apologetic glance.

"Explain what?" The man sighed, his voice tired, yet resistant. Kurt knew that he would tell him what he needed to know.

"How I'm here. Blaine- Blaine's supposed to be a Muggle! He's not, but he thinks he is, and-" Kurt's voice trailed off tiredly. He gestured silently for his glass to be re-filled. It was, and this time, Kurt barely flinched at the use of Magic before drinking it, emptying the glass in one gulp.

"Blaine's not a Muggle," The Healer explained slowly, as if talking to a hysterical five year old.

"I know," Kurt sighed, frustration making his voice hard, annoyed. "I can sense _that_. But he thought he was a Muggle. He had no idea about Magic, he didn't know about any of it," Kurt explained tiredly, desparation lacing his voice. He was confused, tired, and he wanted answers.

"I don't know about any of that," The Healer replied, "but he was taken here by a Squib who worked at the hospital." He turned to Blaine, his voice stern. "You're very lucky that you happened apon a Wizard. If they hadn't known about us, then the Statue..." He trailed off, as if scared to even think about what would have happened.

"To be fair," Blaine countered, "I'd only found out that I was a Wizard a few hours ago. I had no idea about the Statue of Secrecy, or even that there was a Magic hospital. I just knew that my... best friend was dead, and that as far as I knew, Magic fixed everything." Kurt blinked, his head spinning. He felt totally discombobulated, like his head was no longer attatched to the rest of his body. And then Blaine turned to Kurt, his expression unreadable.

"And you! You never told me, never told me that you were Magic, that _I _was Magic!" Kurt sighed a little. All he wanted now was to sleep. He couldn't remember what had happened, why he was there, and he didn't particularly want to.

"I'm not Magic," he groaned. "I used to be. Not any more." Kurt turned away from the two men, rolling over in the bed so he no longer faced them, though he didn't let go of Blaine's hand. He was so tired, and everything was becoming fuzzy around the edges, like one of those watercolour paintings made by five year olds, with too much water, so everything blurrs together, nothing has an edge. Everything was slowly revolving, and Kurt's head throbbed. He just needed to _sleep_! Closing his eyes helped the dizziness. It also made it impossible to stay awake, despite the voices begging him to open his eyes, to talk. The voices were nothing but a quiet, soothing hum, lulling Kurt into a deep sleep almost instantly.

_"Please, Kurt. I love you. Please." _

_Blaine's face swam above him, falling in and out of focus. His expression was genuinely terrified, and Kurt could see the tears that were falling, dripping onto Kurt's face. They were beautiful, in a way. The way that they caught in the light. Blaine was beautiful. _

_I love you. _

_Kurt was sure that he'd dreamed the words, that Blaine hadn't really said them. It was his mind, playing one, final trick on him before it shut off altogether. _

_"I love you, too" He muttered anyway, not caring whether Blaine had really said the words or not. Kurt wasn't stupid. He knew he was about to die. But even through the immence pain in his wrist, like fire, Kurt felt love. Nothing but love for the boy who was bent over him, frantically shaking, stroking his face over and over. _

_"I love you, Blaine." _

_And then it was black. _

Kurt's eyes flew open. It took him a while for his surroundings to come into focus again, but they eventually did, and memories flung themselves at Kurt at the sight of the hospital. Blaine was right there, still holding his hand, watching him.

"Kurt," He sighed, coming to kneel next to his bed, concern etched on his face.

"Blaine." Kurt replied, shuffling a little so that he could sit up. Surprisingly, it was easy. Nothing spun, and Kurt felt light again, normal.

"Careful," Blaine cautioned, worry filling his eyes.

"I'm fine, Blaine," Kurt assured him, sitting up fully and smiling. He really did feel fine. Better than fine. Blaine looked decidedly less nervous upon Kurt's assurance, but he didn't let go of his hand even so. "I remember, you know." He smiled again, a huge, dazzling smile. He felt as light as air. "I remember everything that happened." Blaine blinked slowly, not understanding why this news made Kurt so happy. He remembered nearly dying, but he seemed so... cheerful.

"Everything?" Blaine questioned slowly, shaking his head to clear it.

"Yes," Kurt replied, still smiling. "Everything."

"Then why are you so... _happy_?"

Kurt's face fell. Maybe... Maybe it was a dream. Maybe that was all it was. Maybe when Kurt was dying, his mind had told him what he wanted to hear, so that he was happy in those final seconds. Blissfully happy, dispite the burning pain and the stickiness of the blood. Because Blaine had said that he loved him. But maybe it was just an illusion. He didn't realise that he was welling up until Blaine was wiping the wetness away with his thumb.

"Hey, hey, Kurt, come on," Blaine was saying, his hand running down the side of Kurt's face gently, barely touching him. "Don't cry, what's wrong, please," Blaine broke off, his own eyes prickling. A second ago, Kurt was so happy, and Blaine had been happy with him. But now, Kurt was sad, and; "Please, baby, don't cry." Blaine mentally slapped himself. _Baby? _He only called Kurt that inside his head, not out loud! To Blaine's relief, Kurt didn't seem to have noticed.

"It was all a dream, just a mirage, an illusion!" He murmured, his lip trembling.

"What was, Kurt?" Blaine asked gently, trying to stop himself from calling him Baby, or Honey, or any sort of pet name that he called Kurt in his head. He didn't, however, remove the hand that was gently cupping the Kurt's cheek, or take his eyes away from Kurt's beautiful features.

"It wasn't real. You said..." He broke off again, embarrassed. An adorable blush was creeping up onto his porcelain cheeks, staining them a dusty pink colour.

"What did I say?" Suddenly, Blaine understood.

"You said that you loved me." It was so clear to Blaine, in that moment, exactly what he had to do.

"That wasn't pretend. I love you." Kurt was suddenly painfully aware of the position that they were in. Kurt was sitting up in the bed, and Blaine was sitting opposite him, one hand gently cupping his cheek, the other still holding his hand. Kurt had no idea when Blaine had joined him on the bed, only that they were both now sitting cross legged, their knees touching. His heart was racing. Nothing made any sense, nothing but the fact that Blaine had shifted so that he was kneeling, and was leaning slowly forward, his hazel eyes burning, swirling with raw emotion as they finally dropped Kurt's gaze, flitting to his lips. Kurt licked his lips self consiously; Blaine was clearly about to kiss him, and that seemed to do something to Blaine. Abandoning all restraint, he lurched forward, connecting their lips desparatly. Kurt froze in shock. Blaine was kissing him. _Blaine _was kissing him. Oh. He should probably kiss back. Smiling into the kiss, Kurt started to move his lips against Blaine's. It felt as natural as breathing. Without breaking the kiss, Kurt shifted a little so that he was also kneeling, pulling himself closer to Blaine so that their knees brushed. Kurt felt his heart explode, metaphorically. He felt amazing, on top of the world. Eventually, the need for air surfaced, and Kurt broke the kiss reluctantly, leaning foreward a little so that their foreheads were touching. He could feel Blaine's hot breath curl and mingle with his own.

Kurt couldn't bring himself to care that his first kiss with Blaine was in a hospital, a _Magical _hospital at that. Because it was with Blaine, and Kurt had never felt happier.

"I love you, too." Kurt murmured, watching Blaine's mouth curl into a smile. And then, unable to stop himself, Kurt leaned foreward and connected their lips again.

**A/N: Ohmydays. Adorable boys. **

**So, I know I promised Magic and excitement. But this was too cute a ending to pass up. I mean, just look at them. They're **_**adorable. **_

**So. Please review! This is the hardest of all of my fics to write, so if you want quick updates, I'm gonna need insparation. And Reviews are my insparation. **

**See you guys in your reviews! ;) **


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